


Less of a Balm, More of a Burn

by PhoenixUnknown



Series: Francel of The Pure White and the Twelve Ward Knights [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fellatio, Frottage, I'm not nearly as good as I pretend to be, M/M, Oral Sex, This is actually a present for someone, but also my vulgar references, dub-con, mild Dom/sub themes, rated for my shitty attempts at writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 18:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11788869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixUnknown/pseuds/PhoenixUnknown
Summary: In which Ser Charibert delivers a rosy lip balm made out of the aphrodisiac that the Ward had used on Francel previously. 'For Science,' the other mages might say when asked why and, 'Why not?' being their last cryptic remark on the matter. More likely than not, they just really enjoy torturing him.





	Less of a Balm, More of a Burn

**Author's Note:**

> For Tuhis.  
> You mean a lot to me. Thank you for making this world for me. 
> 
> Takes place after 'Grab My Hand and Lead Me,' which remains unfinished in a public story form.

Upon escorting one Ser Charibert into the Haillenarte manor-there were certain expectations; such as a look of disdain or even disgust at his surroundings. The experience in itself was nerve-wracking for every manservant and every guard that had the ‘pleasure’ of coming face to face with the dark-skinned elezan. However, as it were, there was no such expression on Ser Charibert’s face this day, it was fairly blank and when he would gaze about himself, portrayed a certain amount of complete disinterest. He was here for the ‘youngest Lord Haillenarte’, nothing more. 

There was a peace offering of tea, or even coffee that Ser Charibert turned down with but a mere raise of a well-manicured hand. 

 

“If you  _ please _ .” He says simply, with a withering stare.

 

He who escorted Ser Charibert within bows and backs away as he is, there is more haste in his careful step as he sweeps from the lounge and leaves this man of grand import in private. 

Even as the dark wooden doors click quietly open and then shut again, he does not so much as move an inch from where he has wandered; the very low burning fireplace where his eyes have drawn to the flames dancing within. He knew from the moment those doors opened next that he was not graced by the sweet youngest lord, Francel, but his father instead. Briefly Ser Charibert closes his eyes and takes in a warm breath before he turns to regard the count fairly. Ser Charibert bows and the Count does so in time with him- however he raised before the Knight of twelve. 

 

“Good morning, Count  Baurendouin , ‘Tis good to see thee in fit health, I did however, not ask for thy company and must ask if aught is amiss since you deigned to answer mine call.” 

 

Francel’s father, for that was all Ser Charibert regarded him as, currently seemed to sigh, forming propriety on his mouth as fit as he is able.

 

“I must apologize that your expectations were not met this day, for Francel de Haillenarte--my son, is on duty currently and has been thus for many turns of the sun.” 

 

“Duty, my Lord?” Sarcasm had left Ser Charibert, and he regarded the Count more evenly. 

 

“Yes, duty. In Central Coerthas does he hold a small command at Skyfire Locks, where stationed are many sworn to House Haillenarte. ‘Tis a spreading of small encampments which were to serve, and have served, to scatter safely the resources for the past war-effort, and provide succor to a people scourged. Though the Dragonsong war is ended, ‘tis still an encampment for which many remain to protect the cache from harrowing creatures of starvation and what remaining Horde refuse to leave in peace.”

 

In the face of these facts and new knowledge, Ser Charibert’s evident surprise seemed to lift the Counts’ heart for almost no reason. (none that he could discern as it were.) Since the man wanted to sweep out now as he desired, it was then that with clear hostility and all haste that those wooden doors were to fling open and cause trembling in the very archway. This man that flew in with evident anger as his very visage was not unknown to him; the eldest brother, Lord Stephanivien. Behind him a lady rose knight with a wince on her brow and an ungloved hand over her mouth, the Lady Lanniette. 

 

Ser Charibert regarded the Lord Stephanivien cooley to combat his heated rage-but nothing could quench the fire of an elder brother whom felt the need to protect his littlest possessions. Being met with little more than a sneer certainly did not aid in his enragement. 

 

“Have you not had enough?” Stephanivien’s voice quivered in his attempt to keep himself from screeching. “Has Francel not proven himself time and again, innocent and true?” 

 

_ ‘Oh ho, innocent? Most certainly he has--’  _ Ser Charibert’s smirk widens.

 

“We, of House Haillenarte have ever-more been in service to Ishgard wholly, and Francel more than the rest of us. Have we not given you lot enough? Has he not lost enough and given up enough?”

  
  


_ ‘Ah! This is clearly because he still sees first and foremost; an ex-inquisitor.’ _

 

"My,  _ my!  _ I was not aware that Lord Francel had his very own keeper! Such that even you would approach myself as a threat! Please, rest assured that Francel is not an enemy in our eyes.”

 

Stephanivien bristled even more if that were somehow possible, but when his mouth opened to retort; Ser Charibert cut him off with a sudden hand wave.

 

“Oh please, Lord Stephanivien; I say this not because tis’ owed--but it is not over inquiry that I seek out young Lord Francel. I have been given an award from my two brothers whom Lord Francel aided in some…  _ work. _ They merely wished that he too got to hold on to the fruit of some of his labor.

 

“Do not worry, though your worry and protectiveness is  _ honorable _ .

 

Alas, my time is being wasted now so I shall see myself out. I plan on visiting the young lord, no matter.”

 

The ex-inquisitor as he was seen, turned one last look upon the hearth of the fireplace, whereupon his eyes did scan the prim and polished picture frames. With smooth paint, each child was expertly depicted; to the proud grin upon Stephenivien’s slender lips, the exquisitely knighted Lanniette, to a mirthful Auruvael. A black and white portrait of a long-lost third brother, situated right beside Francel’s photo of a wistfully dreaming boy, a young man of dignity though no astounding bearing, lost to a war.

 

There was a tremble in the eldest-Lord Stephanivien’s shoulders, the air about him ripe with rageful tension. Ser Charibert licked his lip and savored the taste of it when he swept away from them, letting the servants bumble before him to keep him from letting himself out; no matter how they feared him, they did their job and received not even a second glance. 

 

“Stephanivien!”

 

The Count hissed, worry and anger, relief and exasperation, all were present in his tone if that were truly possible. He grasped his angered son by the shoulders, squeezing gently to help clear the red from the edges of Stephanivien’s sight. 

 

“You shall get us all killed with how you approach every single character of high standing.”

 

_______________________________________

  
  


The encampment that Charibert finds placed strategically on a mountain face, it overlooks the entirety of Haldrath’s march, and affords a view from Camp Dragonhead, clear to Durrendaire’s holdings. On grey, snowing days where the air was full of flurrying snow, and the wind blew exceedingly cold--the view was murky, clouded--but if a warning fire were lit; the Lock’s would be read and clearly at attention.

There is a heavily armored knight that startles to see him approaching with unwavering strides brimming with superiority and confidence. It is almost immediate, the far too low bow and a vulgar hurriedness to enter the cabin with Ser Charibert a step behind. 

 

Francel’s chair scrapes back roughly against the floor as he pushes against the table and stands so fast that the chair nearly falls back. There are two more knights within watching from beneath their helms even while they bow to him. Francel seems petrified, almost like he wished to crawl on his knees as though he were in trouble; it was a good look on the boy. Charibert does not speak, he only watches Francel and the red that slowly colors his pallid cheeks healthily again. 

The boy is smart, turning to his knights with such an apologetic expression that they must have known then and there what he was about to ask. Ser Charibert never looks away from the young lord, not even as the loyal knights pass him by, he watches Francel watch his knights leave the house instead; watches the way his anxious eyes dart from one back, to the other, and when the door finally clicks shut, that ever sweet gaze is turned worriedly on himself. Warmth creeps slowly up the back of Ser Charibert’s neck, and his grin widens perceptibly. 

 

“Well, young Joacin, Charlemend...Francel de Haillenarte... You did not say that you held such a position.”

 

The youths breath leaves him in a rush, worry and fear pungent off his lips.

“M-my lord, it is not as though I purposefully neglected to say! I swear it! More as though… It seemed trivial and the least of the Heavensward concerns…” Francel sounded every bit like a chastised boy.

 

Ser Charibert soothes Francel by raising his hands in a silent expression meant to convey that no offence was meant. 

 

“For now, it matters naught for I have for you something small--This is part of the culmination of the other mages little experiments. They wanted you to have it.”

 

Francel tremulously holds out his hand to receive of the gift. A very small compact balm case is set within his palm. The young lord can only stare at it with a feeling and look of confusion that barely masks his creeping trepidation. For, Ser Charibert is smirking at him and making no move at first--Francel’s own stillness begets a sudden blooming of fondness in his breast for that concerned expression that Francel bears. One pocked with intimidation to be in the ex-inquisitors presence and receiving of him this gift.

 

“Allow me, my poor Rose.”

 

Ser Charibert’s dark fingers were nimble and easily pluck away the compact with his long fingers flicking away the cap. The silky pink balm within is revealed and the sweetened rose accented scent is released. The scent seemed to double when Ser Charibert gently swirled his thumb pad over its surface, collecting a smooth layer that he brings to Francel’s lips. The boy in question dares not to move as the balm is slowly spread over the gentle curve of his upper lip -- then slowly over the adorable pout of his bottom lip. Now that ever sweet mouth looked even more sinfully delightful as it glistened slightly and emanating the candied scent of rose petals. The way those lips trembled invitingly and then parted for a surprised gasp soon after only made the desire in the mage strengthen.

The older Elezan smirks to hear Francel’s surprised gasp--he feels that trembling of humid breath against the thumb pressing against a plump bottom lip.

 

“Say ‘ah’, my dear boy.”

 

Warmth uninvited tingles outwards from his rapidly burning lips. Even still, Francel closed his eyes tight and parts his tingling lips for Ser Chairbert’s darkened and lowered tone. So, he presses his thumb over Francel’s tongue and slides it up and down the short length of the muscle such that Francel feels the natural spasm of the muscle get away from him.

 

“Close.”

 

Francel whimpered but does seal his lips around the digit. So with his thumb pressed down on that slick tongue, and Francel giving a very gentle suckle--he slowly withdraws the now clean (of balm) thumb with a muted ‘pop’. 

 

There is a sinister smirk spread over Charibert’s face and, “Good boy,” is all he says.

 

Meanwhile, Francel can only cover his mouth with a minutely trembling hand, his lips have grown hot and his tongue feels heavy, thick-and it tingles with a familiar burning itch. Ser Charibert takes away that ill-blessed balm, lidding it before merely tossing it back onto Francel’s cot. The Ward mage then takes away that silly hat so that it joins the bed with a flick of his wrist as well--then, a fistful of feathery blond hair is seized and yanked so suddenly backwards; a withering whimper is what accompanies such an action. Ser Charibert’s other hand is quickly undoing the sash and clasps that bind his robes together over the lip of the Halonic Knight’s twelve skirt; Ser Charibert pulls from his loosened robes the entirety of his dark member, held steady at the base whilst it fills slowly and seems to twitch with growing interest in the surrounding environs. The grip he has in Francel’s hair pulls again such that he is forcing Francel to look down at the filling organ. Oh, how the sight makes Francel’s cheeks fair burn and his mouth go almost completely dry.

 

“On thy knees Roseling, and show me the proper worship a little Lordling like you owes” 

 

There is an upwards tilt to Ser Charibert’s head as Francel comes slowly unto his knees--it is such that whence glancing shyly up  from his new position; it is to see burning silven eyes staring down at him from over the elegant curve of his nose. Such a look makes Francel burn hot and bright red to be so closely observed. Knowing he can delay no more-Francel slides his hands beneath Charibert’s so he was now holding the swelling organ in his trembling hands. To be so close to it, the heat and weight in his hands; makes such a familiar twinge spread to his loins. The warmth between his legs never leaving and only growing as his gently aching lips seek the tip of Ser Charibert’s penis. Those soft tiers sealing immediately around the freshy leaking head.

The young lord was dutiful in swirling his tongue around the dripping head. His tingling tongue is eager for the salty pre that is coaxed and squeezed out by his suckling lips. Francel seems to glow beautifully when hearing a pleased moan tumble from the older mage--his loins so steadily stirring and his mouth fair yearning to savor more. So his fingers twist devilishly around the base of the enlarged shaft (and in such a way that Charibert smirks to feel his growing repertoire of skills.) and then he begins to gently pull his lips back and forth over the head. Saliva starts slowly dribbling down the length to be caught by his soft hands stroking up and down the shaft before giving a little toe curling twist at the base.

Ser Charibert watches this perfect little lord try to figure out what he liked best. He was learning though, and over the dirty sounds of constant little slurps; Charibert definitely thought to note this performance to share with the others. 

Francel’s snug lips sink lower over the head to wrap around the shaft. Watching more of his own dark penis disappear into that pink mouth was maddening; he wanted to hold that boys soft cheeks in his hands and plunge into that soiled mouth…

 

“Look how good you have become,  _ ungh _ ~ practicing for us, pet?”

 

The older man had been teasing, the the words made the poor boy groan. Charibert’s widening smirk is almost downright vicious. With Francel trying to wiggle closer, it was easier for him to rest against Charibert’s feet on his haunches. His groin warm against one of his shins and one hands clinging to the back of his thighs.

There was a certain breathlessness developing to each hot puff of air from his nose. A sound as dirty as it was sweet and innocent beginning to grow and claw from the back of Francel’s throat. Finally ser Charibert indulges to thread both hands through that sandy, soft hair. The touches making Francel’s head tip back and his mouth open so that his tongue slips out to keep that burning hot cock on it. It was a lewd sight, opaque seed visible on and spread over the sweetly working muscle. Francel’s soft and throaty whimpers were audible this way. Ser Charibert’s breath came faster now, the image of that wide open mouth and tightly shut eyes made his gut twist low and his cock twinge almost painfully. Yes... he wanted to dirty that boy's mouth a lot more...

 

The new fist fulls of hair he gathers is almost painful for this sweet rose; whom  winces before following soon after with a low whine-Ser Charibert tips his foot back onto his heel and nudes the toe of his heeled boot along the back of Francel’s clothed scrotum. His toes are cleverly rubbing along the soft split between those delicate cheeks. Whilst Francel openly moans, Ser Charibert pushes his cock slowly back over the expose tongue, and Francel lets it writhe along the underside to push the head of the shaft to grind against the unforgiving roof of his upper palate. With this, Charibert seems at first quite satisfied to ride Francel’s mouth just like this; content to be making him squirm on his foot by stroking the cleft of his ass thus. It was not to be so, however-as he tilts the young lords mouth up and pushes his cock deeper. Charibert groans aloud at the way Francel’s throat spasms and clenches in stutters around the cock in his throat. Gentle hands at first now clawing at the back of his thighs. The mage, with fire in his eyes, pulls back his cock just enough to let Francel gurgle and cough around his penis for air; wanting to hear it and rejoice in the pooling fire of his gut and his loins. 

 

“Poor, poor Rose. And yet I felt your spoilt dick betray you and jump. Shall I choke you again? Even though you make so big a deal of spitting--you truly desire me to quench the flame on your pretty lips with my seed?”

 

In response to what Charibert so lewdly says; Francel gags around his near-throat full, Charibert having decided that he wanted to finish Francel off, finally.

 

“Open those gorgeous blues, roseling and look at me.”

 

Charibert slides his cock backwards over Francel’s writhing tongue. The retreat does make Francel open his unfocused eyes under the small mercy-his mouth now being gently ridden with more shallow thrusts. The grin he gets in return is strained, but no-less frightening. His restrained prick is then pinned somewhat painfully by Ser Charibert’s boot. Poor Francel cannot help himself from suddenly rutting shamefully against it with quick juts of his hips that stutter and strain to move with how tense his muscles had become. 

When Ser Charibert suddenly plunges his engorged cock down Francel’s constricted throat-the boy's eyes go wide. Charibert pulling Francel’s head forward by the hair, and finally shooting a load at the back of the lord's throat and subsequently, down it. The mages face was cast in ecstasy, his hips twitch back and forth to milk so wonderful a sensation--with Francel’s body melded and strained to his leg. And, even as Charibert slowly pulls his spurting dick back over the tongue that fought to push him out; he rides his orgasm in bliss and now fills the boys mouth. The last of his seed is then split openly over Francel’s lips, smearing semen like fine gloss with the tip of his dick. Francel at this point has let tears peak the corners of his eyes as his body strains against Charibert’s leg; a high pitched moan muffled through his nose as he finishes rutting his own sudden orgasm on Charibert’s foot.

From the corner of Francel’s mouth comes a small dribble of cum, one that he brushes away with pale knuckles. He is just beginning to turn away with the purpose to spit the rest of the viscous fluids out; but he is stopped by Charibert’s thumb and fingers digging into his cheeks to turn him back. Soiled, slick lips puckered invitingly and warm cum forced to sit on his tongue. 

 

“Ah-ah, my sweet. Did I not say you were going to have to learn to swallow?”

 

Francel’s face turns pale and he slides completely onto his bottom now, legs folded almost beneath him and his knees spread such that a cooling, slick spot can be seen marking the front of his gaskins. 

Ser Charibert leans over the lord and casts him in ominous shadow, he caresses Francel’s jaw with sweetness and turned a finger to his chin to tilt up that lovely framed face.

 

“Now.”

 

Unable to disobey so threatening and commanding a voice, Francel weakly gulps. Even though the seed was slick, it was still somehow too thick (more so than he truly expected) and troubled him greatly as his throat refused to cooperate. Suddenly, there are fingers at his throat, and the way they knead and push into the surrounding muscles make them twitch and spasm--a bodily reaction that has him open-mouthed groaning.

 

“There’s a good little lord.”

 

Ser Charibert croons, and it’s only then that Francel realizes he had been made to swallow with physical help.

 

“Let me see.”

 

Very sedately he does obey, mouth opening and sticking out his pink tongue to show only the barest hint of a glaze left.

 

“Beautiful. Now,” Charibert straightens and takes back hold of the base of his cock. “Clean it.”

 

Francel inches forward, newly submissive and subdued; first twirls his tongue around the glans before gently sucking the member part way into his mouth--he goes down on the length once...twice, and then pulls off with an embarrassing smack of his slickened lips. He hides behind a hand to be hummed at praisingly, sitting silently as Ser Chairbert straightens himself up. 

Thus it comes as a very big surprise when Ser Charibert kneels before him and moves his hand away to kiss the very surprised boy. He is also sure to dry Francel’s pants just enough to make the damp stain unnoticeable before leaving.

 

Bless his knights, bless them that when Charibert does leave-they say naught but touch his shoulders and lightly glance him over with nods to themselves before they take their stances again, away, but ever in his presence. In any way loath to leave him from their watchful sights.

**Author's Note:**

> My birthday was today, and let me tell you how gratifying looking at porn and writing porn all day can be for it.
> 
> I hope you wake up to this Tuhis and you get all kinds of nice warm butterfly feelings and pleasant thoughts to carry you through your day.


End file.
